Claimed by the Millionaire: The Wealthy Frenchman's Proposition. Michelle Celmer

where his bride and his guests could relax and not have to worry about being pursued.

      “Sheri?”

      “Yes, Tristan?”

      He couldn’t ask her to stay with him tonight, he thought. This was his assistant. The woman he counted on to be cheeky and funny and to keep his New York office running efficiently. Yet he wanted her, and he wasn’t in the habit of denying himself anything he wanted.

      “Did you like that?”

      “Kissing you?”

      “Mmm, hmm.”

      “Oh, yes. Very much. And dancing with you,” she said, her eyes sparkling as she shimmied against him in time to the slow jazz number playing. “Did you enjoy it?”

      “Kissing you or dancing with you?” he asked, just to tease her.

      “Both.”

      “Yes.”

      She arched both eyebrows at him. “Really? I know you’re used to more sophisticated women.”

      “How do you know that?” he asked. He never discussed his private life at the office.

      “I searched you on Google. I read the Post. And Lucille sends me the French tabloids with pictures of you.”

      “Why?” he asked, realizing that Sheri was a lot more talkative when she drank. Normally, she’d try to play off her interest in him, but not tonight.

      “You’re my obsession,” she said, her tone airy and breathless.

      “Obsession?” he asked.

      She flushed and pushed out of his arms. Her hands came up to cover her face. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe I said that.”

      Tristan cupped her elbow and led her from the dance floor. Sheri grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Taking a delicate sip, she drew to a stop.

      “Will you please forget I said that?”

      Not in a million years, he thought. She was totally unique in a world of women who fawned over him. There was a freshness to her. An innocence that he’d never experienced. Not even with Cecile, who’d been ten years his senior.

      “Tristan? Did you hear me?”

      “Yes, I did.”

      “And?”

      “No, Sheri, I will not forget you said that.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because I like being your obsession. What have you obsessed about doing with me?”

      She shook her head and he wondered if she’d back down now. Instead she took a sip of her champagne and smiled up at him. “I’m not sure you’re ready to know about that.”

      “When do you think I will be?”

      She shrugged. Her delicate shoulders moved underneath the pretty silk straps of the bridesmaid’s dress. “I’m not sure you’ll ever be ready.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because of what I said earlier.”

      “And that was?”

      “You’re not used to a woman like me.”

      “Ma petite, that I may not be, but I’m definitely ready for a woman like you.”

Three

      Sheri kept her hand in Tristan’s as they walked toward the front of the mansion, where the valet was stationed, to get his car. Suddenly she hesitated, realizing that this was going to change her life. She forced herself to look around and acknowledge that, if she kept walking, her life would change.

      “Sheri?”

      She bit her lower lip, wondering if she was going to pass up the chance of a lifetime. And the answer was…she had no idea. She was torn between what she wanted—the man she’d wanted for so long—and self-preservation.

      “Yes?”

      “Would you like to stay here?”

      No, she thought. But now she couldn’t say that she was swept away by the moment. He was putting the onus on her, which was exactly where it should be. Clearly, he was leaving…and the thought of watching another man walk away was too much for her. The decision was made that easily.

      She had no idea what the future would hold, but on this night she was going to be with Tristan. And it could only be this night, because she was flying back to the States in the morning.

      “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

      “My villa.”

      “You have a villa on Mykonos?”

      “Yes. I own property all over the world,” he said.

      “Why? There’s no real reason for you to be here for the magazine.”

      “One of my best friends lives here. Plus, in the summer, it’s a nice place to holiday.”

      She nodded. “I don’t own any property.” She was very lucky that her brownstone in Brooklyn was a fixed-price rental. She’d taken over the lease upon her aunt’s death.

      He arched one eyebrow at her. “Is that important?”

      She shrugged and realized that, to him, it wouldn’t be. And unless she wanted to ruin the wonderful attraction that was flowing between the two of them, she needed to stop being so mired in who she was.

      “It’s not. So where is this villa?”

      “Not far. Ready to go?”

      She nodded.

      She started forward but he stopped her with a hand on her arm, drawing her back against his chest. He leaned down and whispered something in French that she couldn’t understand and kissed her neck.

      Tingles of arousal spread down her body, tightening her nipples and making her breasts feel fuller. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, one hand at her waist, one hand right under her breasts.

      She tipped her head to the side to give him better access to her throat. He whispered her name and kept her close to him before biting her softly and lifting his head.

      He took her hand in his and led the way out of the building. They waited for the car. Tristan kept his gaze on the night sky. But Sheri couldn’t help looking at him and marveling that, for tonight, he was hers.

      Tristan Sabina is going to be mine. The future didn’t matter at this moment, because she wanted him with the kind of keen longing she’d never experienced before with a man.

      He turned to her and lifted one eyebrow as if he were asking her what she was thinking. She flushed and shook her head.

      He smiled then lowered his head and kissed her, his lips feathering over hers and his hands skimming down the sides of her body. His fingers brushed against the curves of her breasts and came to rest at her waist, pressing her up into his body.

      She liked the way he felt against her. His height made her feel delicate and very womanly. His hands were large enough to span her waist and she felt them wrap around her. Everything else dropped away.

      There was just her and Tristan. His lips on hers, his hands on her body and the very essence of him seeping into her cold and lonely soul.

      She suckled his lower lip, drawing it into her mouth. His hands tightened on her and his erection brushed against her lower belly. She swallowed hard and pulled back, looking up at him.

      She had a little sexual experience, but nothing that had made her feel like Tristan was.

      “What is it?” he asked, bringing one hand up to